


Mi Alma Es Su Alma

by teenage_hustler



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alcohol, Clubbing, Double Penetration, Drunk Sex, F/M, Infidelity, Other, Spain, Threesome - F/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-20
Updated: 2018-06-20
Packaged: 2019-05-26 03:23:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,182
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14991692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/teenage_hustler/pseuds/teenage_hustler
Summary: After making a startling discovery, Hermione is forced to go to Spain by her two best friends.I originally write this for Livejournal's 2009 Hermione Smut fic exchange, and let's just say I took the 'smut' part of the exchange extremely seriously. There's a lot of bangin' in here.I also refer to the various penises (penii?) as dicks, which isn't a word I see in a lot of fic these days. Apologies if that kills the mood.





	Mi Alma Es Su Alma

**Author's Note:**

  * For [vegetasbubble](https://archiveofourown.org/users/vegetasbubble/gifts).



“I can’t believe that you two have talked me into this,” Hermione said, trying to tug down the embarrassingly short skirt her they had suggested she wear.

Blaise looked back and grinned at her. “C’mon, Granger. We can’t very well go to Spain and not visit a Spanish club.”

“Precisely,” Draco agreed, stomping down on the cigarette he had just finished smoking. “Believe us, Granger. You will not regret this.”

Hermione sighed. She had come to Spain to _get away_ from seeing sweaty, near-naked bodies thrusting against each other. Or rather, to avoid the chance of running into two particular near-naked bodies thrusting against each other. Either way, going in here screamed ‘bad idea’ to her. She was sure that it was going to be horrible and that it was going to make her just as miserable as she had been when Blaise and Draco had dragged her out of England.

“Of course,” Blaise said, now inspecting his fingernails in the dim light of the flickering street lamps lining the street, “we could always just take you back to England, back to Potter and Weasley. Would you like us to do that, Granger? Would you like us to take you back to those best friends of yours, just in time to have you open the door and see, not for the first time, Weasley on all fours in his birthday suit, begging for Potter to shove his massively erect cock into his arsehole?”

_Oh, God_ , Hermione thought. She shook her head vigorously, trying to block out the memory that Blaise had just evoked in her.

~*~

It was a Friday afternoon, and Hermione was having one of the worst days in her career. Nobody could say that being an attorney for the Ministry of Magic was an easy or relaxing job, but lately the number of complicated yet utterly redundant cases landing on her desk had become ridiculous. She had been in her office 16 hours a day, every day, including weekends, for at least a month, trying to get everything sorted out. The only people that came into her office were Draco and Blaise, making increasingly insistent requests for her to take a break every time they came in. She ignored them, often telling them to leave her alone. They didn’t understand how important her job was to her. It was imperative that she did her work and did it well.

Then, that Friday afternoon, it finally happened. For the first time in her six years of working there, she lost a case. 

It was a nearly impossible case to win; she’d known that. The amount of evidence stacked against her client was obscene, and she, for one, hadn’t believed one syllable of that liar’s story. But that had never mattered before. She was Hermione Granger, legal prodigy. She always, always won, no matter how difficult the circumstances.

Except not any more. She had failed. All of her hard, tireless work and effort on this case had gone completely to waste.

After the verdict had been handed out she had fled to her office, paying no attention to Draco and Blaise. They had both watched the entire case, as they often did, and were trying to tell her that she couldn’t have done anything more, and that it was just one case, that it was unimportant; anything to calm her down. She refused to listen. She grabbed her bag and coat and promptly Apparated to the small house she and Ron shared.

When she materialised in her hallway she noticed that Ron’s coat was there. Evidently he was home. This was unusual. Normally Friday afternoon was when he, Harry and the rest of the Cannons went to the Leaky Cauldron to have a few drinks and talk tactics for upcoming games during the next week. Speaking of Harry, he appeared to be there too. The emerald green coat hanging on the guest hook was unmistakable.

_Well, good_ , she thought. She could use their company right then. Unlike Draco and Blaise, Harry and Ron knew nothing about her work life. They had also been her friends for far longer, and, she believed, knew her better. They hadn’t yet managed to accept her friendship with Draco and Blaise, but hopefully they would in the fullness of time. Right now, she wanted to find them, sit with them, talk to them, order in Chinese food, and try, at least, to forget about work.

She went to the living room, expecting them to be there, eating biscuits and, probably, discussing her and Ron’s sex life in embarrassing detail. Not that she and Ron had been having much of a sex life lately; she was always far too busy. But the living room was unchanged from when she’d left it that morning, save for two empty bottles of butterbeer and a bowl that had probably had crisps in it. She took them to the kitchen, where they surely would be instead. But no, they weren’t there either.

_Hmm_ , Hermione thought, disposing of the butterbeer bottles, _how odd. Where could they be?_ She then heard a loud thump from somewhere above her, like something had fallen over. Curious, she climbed the stairs, checking every room on the second floor for fallen objects, until she reached the room at the end of the corridor; hers and Ron’s bedroom.

The door was slightly ajar, which was strange in itself, since she had a somewhat obsessive-compulsive habit of closing every door in the house before leaving for work in the morning. _Perhaps Ron went in there to change, or something?_ She pushed the door open and found she had to grip the door frame to keep from fainting at what she was seeing.

Harry was kneeling in the middle of the room with his back to her. His glasses were askew, the blue shirt he was wearing was damp with sweat, and his lack of trousers or pants meant that his toned, slightly hairy arse was in Hermione’s plain sight. Below him, Ron was on all fours, completely naked except for his socks. His bent legs were spread apart, and he was pointing his arse towards Harry. Their breath came in loud, panting gasps, so breathy that it was several seconds before Hermione realised that they were talking to each other.

“... that’s it, Harry... put it in... right there... oh, yes...”

“God... you’re so... fucking... tight...”

Tears, hot and stinging, brimmed in Hermione’s eyes. The burning feeling of betrayal, both from her boyfriend and her best friend, clutched at her heart, scratching and tearing at her insides, making it impossible to breathe. She choked on a sob and they both turned just in time to catch a glimpse of her as she slammed the door shut and fled down the hall. 

Not knowing where else to go, she Apparated to Blaise’s house, where he and Draco were sitting at the kitchen table looking over Auror-related paperwork, and asked feebly if she could stay with him for a few days. Blaise agreed immediately, his normally cocky demeanour giving way to concern at her distressed state. He and Draco led her to the couch and, after several cups of hot chocolate and uncharacteristically gentle words, managed to calm her down. But no amount of coaxing could get her to tell them what had made her so upset.

They needn’t have bothered to try and get her to spill the beans. The next morning, right after Blaise had knocked on the door of the spare bedroom and ordered Hermione to come into the kitchen and have some breakfast before he finished all the cereal, there was a loud knock on the door.

Blaise raised his eyebrows. The only visitor he ever got at that time of morning was Draco, and he normally Apparated straight into his kitchen. Draco never met the only other visitors he had. They were people of that exclusively hot, sexy and horny female variety that he took home, slammed against his front door before the thought of unlocking it could enter his alcohol-fuelled mind, and snogged roughly in a pointless attempt to distract himself from the fact that he, like his completely sexually inactive best friend, wanted somebody else. Really, if he thought about it, knocking was one of the things his front door was least likely to experience. Yet, there it was.

He opened the door to find two of his least-favourite people standing there. Scar-head and Weasel-King looked a bizarre combination of irate and anxious. He considered shutting the door in their faces, but their strange facial expressions had sparked such curiosity in him that he eventually decided that to do so would be a wasted opportunity.

“I felt that the morning was going too well. Thank Merlin you’ve come here to ruin it,” he greeted them.

“Where is she?” Weasel-King retorted.

“‘She’?” Blaise queried. “If you’re referring to my darling cat, Tiddles, she was killed by one of those Muggle transportation devices in the fall. And I’d thank you not to bring that up. The memory of her death is still quite painful.”

“Stop it, Blaise,” Scar-head said. “You know who we’re looking for. Where’s Hermione?”

Blaise immediately grew suspicious. He had assumed that Granger’s current emotional state had something to do with Weasel-King, what with her wanting to stay with him rather than at her own house, but what did Scar-head have to do with it? Come to think of it, why was Granger opting to stay with him rather than with the aforementioned Scar-head? Clearly he had something to do with this as well.

“Why, might I ask, do you want to know?” he questioned them. “Have you two been naughty boys?”

He expected some angry retaliation from Weasel-King, or a challenging glare from Scar-head, accentuated by those awful glasses he still insisted on wearing. What he didn’t expect was for them both to look away from him, their faces turning red. _How very interesting_ , Blaise thought.

He heard footsteps behind him, and turned to see Granger coming down the stairs. She stopped short when she saw Scar-head and Weasel-King there. Ignoring Blaise completely, she narrowed her eyes at them.

“I have nothing to say to you,” Granger said to them.

“Hermione,” Scar-head said, “you can’t just run away. We need to talk about this.”

“Talk about what, Harry?” Hermione asked. “About how I came home after a totally shit day and opened the door to my bedroom to find my boyfriend being arse-fucked by none other than my supposed best friend? Well, I don’t know about that. It all seems pretty straight-forward to me. You two are arseholes, I never want to see you again, and I hope you are forever unsatisfied.”

Blaise’s eyes widened. Had such an action not been beneath him, he was sure his jaw would have dropped as well. _Well, call me a man-whore and fuck me plenty. Who would have thought that Scar-head and Weasel-King liked cocks? Let alone each other’s cocks? Let alone behave so contradictorily to their noble principles as to use their cocks on each other before Weasel-King could break it off with Granger_? He found Granger’s use of colourful language impressive as well. At work she was never inclined to say anything more offensive than ‘oh my giddy aunt’, after all.

“Hermione, you don’t understand,” Weasel-King said. “I was going to tell you, but you work all the time; I couldn’t reach you.”

“Don’t you dare try to make this my fault, Ron Weasley,” Granger said dangerously, although Blaise couldn’t help but think that Weasel-King had a point. She really did work way too much. This could potentially have been going on for ages, and Granger would have been so preoccupied with whatever case she was researching for that she wouldn’t have noticed. 

Still, it was hardly an excuse.

“Hermione,” Scar-head said, trying to enter the house but finding it impossible to step past Blaise’s imposing frame. “We’re sorry you found out this way. Really, we are. But please. You’re our oldest friend. Please forgive us.”

To Blaise’s surprise, Granger didn’t say ‘no’ straight away, and then walk upstairs in an aristocratic fashion. She instead frowned, crossing her arms and considering them from afar. Blaise was tempted to save her the trouble and slam the door on their faces now. His curiosity was satisfied, after all; he had no other reason for keeping them there. But he kept the door open, out of reluctant respect for one of the few actual friends he had.

“I can’t forgive you yet,” Hermione said at last. “Sorry. I’ll let you know when I can. Don’t contact me until then.”

Weasel-King opened his mouth to say something else, but Blaise decided he could act on his urge without offending the masses, and shut the door. 

He turned back to see Hermione still standing there, quietly looking at the ground.

“Can I come in yet?” asked a voice from the living room.

“Draco?” Blaise looked into the room to see him lounging luxuriously on the couch, a cigarette between two of his long fingers. “How long have you been here?”

“Since Granger started talking about shit days and arse-fucking,” Draco answered, standing up and pushing the cigarette into the glass ashtray Blaise kept there for him. “That was a fantastic use of profanity, by the way, Granger. I didn’t think you had it in you.”

Blaise smirked in amusement. In making that observation, Draco had proved yet again that he and Blaise’s thoughts were exactly alike.

Granger looked away, but both Draco and Blaise caught a hint of a smile playing on her lips.

“So what now, do you think?” Blaise asked, looking from Draco, to Granger, then back to Draco again.

“I think,” Draco said, not taking his own gaze off Granger, “that our female acquaintance here needs a holiday.”

Granger’s eyes widened in alarm. “No,” she protested. “I couldn’t possibly. I have several cases with the Magical Law Enforcement to research before next week, and the Harvey case is on Wednesday morning—“

“I think a holiday is a really good idea,” Blaise agreed with Draco. “Where do you think would be a good place?”

“Hmm,” Draco pondered, “I hear Spain’s quite nice this time of year.”

~*~

So here she now was, standing in a line with her new best friends, waiting to enter the enormous Spanish nightclub, wishing she hadn’t agreed to this. So far the holiday had been lovely. They’d gone to more cities, restaurants, bars and beaches than she’d ever been to before. She knew she looked healthier, happier, more well-fed and more tanned than she had in quite a while, and she knew that she had Draco and Blaise to thank entirely for that. They had dragged her to all of these places, telling her that she would love them, and they had not been wrong yet.

But there was no possible way that they could be right about this place. Nightclubs were not her thing. There were always too many people in them, the music was always too loud, and she’d heard enough stories about the sorts of things that went on in nightclubs to know that it would be well within her best interest to stay away from them. She had planned to live out her entire life without ever setting foot in one.

Trust Draco and Blaise to completely ruin her pathetic plans.

“Identificaćion, por favor,” came the voice of the bouncer at the door.

Blaise handed over all three of their IDs, which the bouncer checked before nodding and giving them back. Blaise winked at him and they all entered the club, Hermione again trying to tug her skirt down.

The place was packed, that much she could tell. It was pretty dark in there, but what light there was shined onto the throng of people moving in a dizzy sort of rhythm to the music. Despite her still being annoyed at Blaise for mentioning Harry and Ron, she latched onto his arm before he could run away and leave her there.

Draco chuckled in amusement at her action. “Looks like I’ll be getting the first round then,” he shouted over the music before fighting his way through the crowd to the bar.

When he was gone, Hermione let go of Blaise and stood awkwardly next to him. 

“Stop it!” he yelled at her.

She jumped in shock. “What!?” she yelled back.

“Stop being pissed off at me!” he said. “Seriously, Granger! You need to learn to make jokes about these sorts of things! It will help you, trust me!”

“How can I joke about something that hurt me so much!?” she shouted. “And why would I trust you!? You brought me to this horrible place!”

“You learn to do it in time! And it’s something you should do if you want to forgive them! And I know you want to forgive them; that’s the sort of person you are! And I brought you here to help you forgive them, too!”

Hermione snorted in disbelief. A redundant action, really, as Blaise could neither see nor hear her doing it. “How exactly does being HERE help me forgive them!?”

“Because, Granger, you wouldn’t have been so upset about them if you hadn’t been so high-strung and miserable!” Blaise yelled. “This is the kind of place you go to when you need to unwind! Think about it, Granger; this is the chance for you to go crazy, and act as wildly as you’ve ever wanted.”

“I’ve never wanted to act wildly!”

“Bullshit!” Blaise saw Draco re-appearing, three plastic cups in his grasp, and beckoned him over. “You’re a quiet, over-achieving, workaholic bookworm who lost one court case in six years and cried about it! You want to act more wildly than anybody else here!”

“Drinks!” Draco interrupted them. He thrust a plastic cup into Hermione’s hand. It contained a clear liquid of some sort.

“Bottoms up!” Blaise shouted, tipping the contents of his cup into his mouth. Hermione did the same, coughing loudly at the sweet, strong but not entirely unpleasant taste of the drink.

“Another?” Draco asked her, stacking their cups and placing them carefully on the floor, where they would no doubt be kicked and squashed by some drunken louts in the fullness of time.

“Absolutely,” Blaise shouted back, “Granger?”

Hermione paused. One drink was generally her limit. She’d always been a bit of a lightweight. Any more than one drink and she tended to get a bit tipsy.

But, she rationalised, Blaise and Draco were with her. So if she did get tipsy, they at least would be there to look after her. She trusted them wholeheartedly, and knew that they wouldn’t neglect to protect her, should she need protecting.

“All right,” she therefore said to Blaise, who patted her on the shoulder and left for the bar.

“Let’s go with him,” Draco suggested. “The closer one is to the bar, the better.”

“Says who?” Hermione asked.

“Says anyone with a brain,” Draco answered. “Come on.”

Hermione gripped onto his hand, and together they dove into the crowd. Hermione was amazed that these people were able to move at all, let alone adjust their position enough to allow both her and Draco to squeeze through. The thought of staying in there, having sweaty bodies of varying states of undress bumping into her as she tried hopelessly to stay upright, was terrifying. Was she expected to do that, or would standing quietly at the bar be enough for Draco and Blaise?

They reached the bar just in time to see Blaise sliding several tiny glasses (and they were glasses this time) along it.

“Got us two each,” he told them.

“Excellent.” Draco turned to Hermione. “Ever done two shots in a row, Granger?”

Hermione shook her head. “Is it hard?”

Blaise laughed. “Hardly. Just down one, then the other.”

“Hmm.” Hermione considered the drinks in front of her. One was bright green, the other a dark purple. They looked quite pretty, she thought. Like liquid jewels.

“Seems simple enough,” she said.

Blaise grinned at her. “Atta girl.” He raised his glass. “Cheers!”

~*~

An hour and a half later, Hermione wasn’t sure how much she’d imbibed, but she didn’t feel that drunk. She could still see properly, she wasn’t falling over, and she hadn’t thrown up. The only thing that seemed different was that every time she tried to take a sip of the water Draco had given her, she kept missing her mouth.

“Come,” Blaise said, taking her hand. “Let’s dance.”

“OK,” she agreed airily, forgetting her previous fear of engaging in that very activity. Placing her glass back on the bar, she let herself get pulled into the crowd.

A space materialised in front of them and they squeezed into it, facing each other. A hip-hop song that Hermione vaguely recognised was playing, so loudly that she could feel the booming of the bass thumping through her body.

“So, how d’you do this?” she asked.

“Well,” Blaise said, “I generally do it like this.” He took a step closer and placed a hand on each of her hips. “Put your arms around my neck,” he instructed her.

She did as he asked, and in doing so caught a whiff of his aftershave over the strong odour of sweat and bodies. “You smell nice,” she commented.

“Thanks,” Blaise smiled. “And now, we just move to the beat, like this.”

He started to wiggle – that was the best word she could come up with for how he was moving – and pulled her along with him. After a few moments she let herself loosen up a little and go along with it, and found that she had gotten the hang of it quickly. This didn’t seem so bad, actually. It was therapeutic, almost; wiggling slowly and letting the music consume her.

Then of course there was Blaise. The two of them had become friends six years ago, when she had gotten her current job in the Ministry. She had worked closely with him on several of her initial cases, and after a while discovered, to her amazement as well as his, she was sure, that they had become friends. She had always found him a refreshing change from Harry and Ron, who were somehow both less mature and less fun than Blaise was. She didn’t know if she ever could forgive Harry and Ron, but if she could she doubted they would ever be as close as they had been before. She supposed she should be sad about that, but she wasn’t. She had Blaise, and Draco, whom she had gotten to know better through Blaise, to be her best friends now.

It also didn’t hurt that Blaise was incredibly good-looking.

Oh, but she was aware of how sought-after Blaise Zabini was in her office. Many of her female co-workers, and no small amount of her male co-workers, had asked her what she knew of his relationship status.

Hermione couldn’t really tell them much. As far as she could gather, he was single and utilising his being single in every way possible. He probably wasn’t in any hurry to become someone’s prized boyfriend.

That was good for him, and all of that, but even Hermione, who had had a boyfriend for years, had often wished that he would consider a relationship with somebody. Or, more specifically, her. She’d always felt bad about thinking that way. It had seemed unfaithful to Ron to fantasise about being with another man. But she supposed now she had no such inhibition, and could fantasise guilt-free.

As long as she kept on reminding herself that they would never be more than fantasies. 

“What’re you thinking about?” Blaise asked.

“You,” she answered, without thinking. 

He seemed pleased about this. “What about me?”

“Just how pretty you are.”

“Aww,” He ran a hand over her now slightly sweaty hair, “thanks.”

“How come you’re not with anyone?”

She was speaking more directly than usual tonight. Maybe the alcohol was affecting her more than she’d thought.

Blaise, fortunately, didn’t seem at all affronted. He instead gave her another of his impish grins and leaned in closer, so his mouth was right next to her ear.

“Because, Granger,” he said, as quietly as he could in the loud room, “ _mi alma es su alma_.”

_Mi what es su what_? “What does that mean?” she asked.

“There you two are.” Draco managed to squeeze in next to them. “Mind if I cut in, Zabini?”

“Yes,” Blaise answered, but he released his hold on her and she spun toward Draco.

“Why do you call everybody by their last names?” Hermione asked him as she placed an arm on each of his shoulders.

“It’s more masculine,” Draco answered, taking hold of her hips just like Blaise had done, “don’t you think?”

Hermione giggled. “I guess.”

They resumed swaying to the music. Hermione noticed that his grip on her was lighter, yet somehow more possessive, than Blaise’s. He also seemed more fiddly; his hands moving along her sides every so often.

Draco was also quite good-looking, Hermione had to admit. Indeed, if she had to decide who she thought was the better-looking between Draco and Blaise, she didn’t think she’d be able to give an answer. Draco’s was a different sort of attractive; more beautiful than Blaise’s sexy. While Blaise had an uncaring and often quite in-your-face kind of outer persona, Draco’s was more snobbish and arrogant; a trait that made him seem overall less approachable than Blaise, although Hermione knew that in actuality he was every bit as lovely and kind as Blaise was. She had to admit that she had often fantasised about being in a relationship with Draco as well, although she knew that, like with Blaise, her fantasies would probably never be realised. But she could certainly dream, particularly now when the three of them were dancing so close to each other.

It was very hot in the room. Hermione had long-ago discarded the jumper she had been wearing, leaving her in a simple white singlet top and the short black skirt that had previously been causing her discomfort. The skirt wasn’t bothering her now. In fact, she was quite glad she had been forced to wear it because Merlin knew how hot she’d be if she was wearing thick trousers instead.

Still Draco’s hands seemed to be fiddling. Hermione was about to ask him what he was doing, when she gasped at the sudden feel of his hands on the bare skin of her hips. Normally she wouldn’t have liked that. She wasn’t a huge fan of being touched, at least in a skin-on-skin kind of way. But this felt ... kind of nice. And it was Draco, after all; one of the few people she quite liked the idea of being touched by. His hands were smooth, clean ... adventurous without being obtrusive. She smiled at Draco, who smiled back and moved his hands further around her, pulling her closer in. Hermione didn’t even notice that her top had risen to just above her naval.

“How’s it going?” breathed a voice in Hermione’s ear. She craned her neck around to see Blaise standing behind her.

“Wonderfully,” Hermione said back. Blaise wrapped his arms around her and she leaned into him. She felt his hands slipping under her top, his fingers running along her tummy, tickling her sensitive skin. She sighed in contentment, feeling the air hitting her bare skin as her top was lifted still higher. It didn’t matter; nobody would see. She was surrounded by her boys.

Oh, her boys, dancing with her, taking care of her, making her relax, touching her as she’d daydreamed them touching her for years. How she wanted to be closer to them. How she wanted to touch them too ... to taste them ...

She took one hand off Draco’s shoulders and lifted it up and behind her. It landed on Blaise’s hair, and she ran her fingers through it. _Black, thick, silky hair. Blaise ... so pretty ... so pretty ... so here, with her ..._ her hand ran from his hair, to his cheek, to the back of his head. Then she was pulling him toward her and kissing him.

Merlin knew how long it had been since she’d last kissed someone. She and Ron hadn’t properly kissed for a very long time, and before that, nothing, really. But it wouldn’t have mattered; if she’d kissed someone yesterday she still would have found kissing Blaise as mind-blowing as she did now. He seemed to intuitively know how to move his mouth and tongue in a way that was both entirely new and entirely amazing to her. His hands simultaneously continued to stroke along her belly, sending wonderful tickling shivers down her spine, into her stomach, and finally to her crotch, which she could feel was starting to moisten.

When she had to come up for air she broke the kiss, and Blaise immediately started planting kisses on her cheek, her jaw, her neck. Hermione moaned and leaned further into him, while pulling Draco closer to her.

_Draco_. Hermione twisted her head back around to look at him. She would have expected him to look either grossed out or annoyed at what was happening in front of him. But he didn’t. He instead looked ... intrigued. And kind of pleased.

He smiled at her and, leaning toward the ear that Blaise’s mouth wasn’t two inches away from, said to Hermione, “this is incredibly hot.”

Behind her, Blaise bit lightly at her earlobe and dipped a single finger directly into her naval. She groaned and, looking at Draco, with his hands still caressing her back, pulled him into a kiss as well.

Draco’s kiss was different to Blaise’s. While Blaise was fiery, deep and passionate, Draco was slow and elegant. He took his time, running his tongue along her lips, then into her mouth, tasting every flavour she had to offer. He, meanwhile, tasted like alcohol and cigarettes. Hermione wasn’t sure which direction to lean into; the combined sensations the two boys were evoking in her being so wonderful that she wasn’t sure which parts she wanted more of.

When she broke the kiss she was panting, her eyes closed, her hands drifting to Blaise’s on her tummy, then above to feel the roundness of her breasts through the thin layers of clothing. Blaise started kissing her neck again and she tilted her head back. She could feel the knickers becoming even more dampened. She wanted more... she wanted it all... she wanted them...

“...want you... so much...” she panted out.

“Which of us?” Draco whispered.

“... both... both of you... together...”

“Well in that case,” Blaise said from her other side, “I think we’d better go somewhere a bit more... comfortable.”

She felt hands leaving her, and then around her head, covering her eyes with what felt like a silk tie – possibly the one that Blaise had been wearing. She was completely blind, and they were both grabbing her hands, wrapping them in their own...

...they were somewhere else. Gone was the loud music, leaving nothing but a dull ringing in her ears. The air was cooler, smelled fresher, felt much less crowded. Lips were on hers in an instant, and hands were pushing her slowly towards the ground. She felt cold wood underneath her hands and knees. She twisted and turned until she was lying down, still being kissed by the man above her, and she soon felt a hand on her exposed stomach, again ticking her extra-sensitive flesh.

“I’ll be back,” said a voice that she knew to belong to Blaise, meaning that Draco was the one touching her. She thought it was. He was much slower and more deliberate with his hands, as well as with his mouth.

She heard a door open somewhere, but paid it no heed. She continued to kiss Draco, feeling blindly for his head, his shoulder, anything. Her hands ran through that fine white-blonde hair she’d been itching to touch for years. She felt his face, his chiselled jaw, his chin, still smooth despite his last having shaved several days ago, down his throat, to the buttons of his shirt. She plucked at them, trying to undo them, before getting impatient and ripping the shirt apart. She heard the _ping ping ping!_ of buttons flying, followed by the rustling of him pulling the shirt off, and knew she was successful. 

Her hands ran along his smooth skin. He was lean, but surprisingly muscular, as she could now tell by the slight dips and bumps of muscles in his shoulders and chest.

“I’m back,” Blaise announced. 

Draco stopped kissing her, and she felt rather put-out. She then felt somebody (Blaise, presumably) settling himself somewhere near her hip. Then she gasped as she felt a cold liquid being slowly, carefully poured on her exposed belly. He poured from her pelvis, into her naval, up, up, between her breasts, wetting her top, along her throat...

“Open wide,” Blaise cooed.

She obeyed, and he poured some of the liquid in her mouth. She swallowed and could taste alcohol, similar to what she had had as her first drink that evening. It slid down her throat, warming her insides, relaxing her.

She heard the _clunk_ of the bottle being placed on the ground, followed by the sound of shuffling. Then she felt a hot, warm mouth right at her hipbone, licking up the alcohol, sucking at her skin. She groaned loudly, until the groan was cut off by Draco kissing her again.

Blaise continued licking all along her stomach, moving in slow circles, occasionally stopping to suck on her skin for a moment. She could imagine her skin looking almost diseased with hickeys once he was done. She couldn’t believe that this was really happening; that she was being touched, licked and sucked by the two men that she had dreamt about being touched, licked and sucked by for so long.

Draco removed his lips from hers, much to her disappointment. She felt hands on her ribs, just below her breasts, plucking at her top. She instinctively moved her arms until they were lying above her head. The alcohol-drenched article of clothing was pulled off, and she heard Draco’s sigh of approval at the sight of the red lace bra just concealing her breasts. She smiled, then Blaise started sucking the alcohol directly out of her naval and the smile was replaced with a moan.

Draco, meanwhile, ran his hands down her chest until he reached the top of her bra. He slid one hand into each cup and gave another sigh of approval at the already hardened nipples he’d discovered. He pulled and tweaked at them, massaging them with a roughness that Hermione wouldn’t have expected from him. She groaned again, louder this time, and her legs fell further apart.

Blaise noticed her change in position and sneaked his hands under her skirt, sliding them deliciously up her thighs. He reached the elastic of her knickers and gracefully hooked his hands under them. He pulled them slowly off her, easing them off her feet and tossing them away. Making no move to remove her skirt, he snuck his hand under it again and ran his hand along the outside of her sex.

“Waxed, Granger?” he commented. “Interesting. Who’s that for?”

“For me,” she said breathlessly, trying in vain to push her breasts further into Draco’s hands. “I got it done when I was 18, and I liked how it felt whenever I, er...”

“Jerked off?” He slid his hand lower, and Hermione squirmed a little as his index finger brushed ever-so-slightly over her clitoris. “I think we’re well past the point where you have to be embarrassed by us, don’t you?”

Hermione tried to answer, but Blaise’s finger pressing her clit again made words impossible. She could only sigh and spread her legs still wider, hopefully giving him better access.

Draco had managed to work his hands under Hermione’s back and located the clasp of her bra. Pretty though it was, he could hardly do what he wanted to with it on. He slid the lacy red garment off her, tossing it carelessly aside as he again took one breast in each hand. Hermione whimpered at his slightest touch, indicating to him that she was close.

Blaise also sensed her fast-approaching climax, and ducked his head under her skirt to help send her all the way. He slipped two fingers directly into her and started to pump, up and down, up and down, and he heard her whimpering become louder. Then he removed his fingers and replaced them with his tongue, using it to probe into her and taste her sweet juices. Finally he went higher, seeking out her clit. He found it and latched onto it, sucking it directly.

“Oh, God!” Hermione shrieked. Her breath was now coming in desperate grasps. She thrust relentlessly against Blaise’s mouth, getting faster and faster, until her insides exploded into an incredible wave of delight. She arched her back and stretched her arms above her, accentuating the amazing feel of the most intense orgasm she had thus far in her life experienced.

When she finally came back down to earth somebody removed her blindfold and she blinked several times as her eyes adjusted to the light. She could see that she was in the main bedroom of Blaise’s house.

She sat up, still breathing heavily, and directed her gaze to Draco and Blaise, who were both now standing above her. Draco was shirtless, thanks to her previous impatient work, but Blaise still looked ridiculously clothed in his royal red button-down shirt and black trousers. Looking further down, she could see that they both had erections big enough to be considered deadly weapons, and to her surprise the sight of those huge stiffies, combined with the knowledge that it was her that had caused them, send a pleasant tingle of pleasure straight to her sensitised clitoris. She suddenly wanted more.

With that she stood up, flattening her skirt; the only item of clothing she still had on her. She noticed the bottle of alcohol on the ground near her and bent over to pick it up. She could feel her skirt lift up as she bent down, and knew that both boys would have a good glimpse of the curves of her arse. She grinned. She’d never felt so sexy before.

Bottle in hand, she stepped closer to her boys, until she was standing between them. Facing Blaise, she took a quick swig of the bottle, and then handed it to Draco, who grabbed it. Hermione grinned at Blaise and started undoing the fiddly buttons of his shirt. The belt went next, then the trousers, then finally the boxers, which, given the size of Blaise’s erection, were very difficult to remove indeed. But finally they were off, and she now had uncovered access to the wonder that was Blaise’s cock.

Before kneeling down, she looked back at Draco, whose hand was on his belt. His eyes searched hers, as though asking her permission to let his own erection free. She nodded, and he removed his belt with almost comical haste.

As Hermione watched Draco strip, she took Blaise’s cock in her hand and pumped up and down. Blaise’s grunts of approval sent further tingles of pleasure to her clit. Now she knelt down, settling herself on the ground and flicking her tongue along the very tip of Blaise’s cock. Blaise sighed with satisfaction when she at last took him completely into her mouth. His hands wound into her hair and he tried to push her further in. Every groan and moan from him sent a further tingle through her, and, desperate for some relief, she slid her hand between her legs and pressed her clit with a single finger.

She then felt hands on her breasts, massaging them as they had before, and she didn’t have to look behind to know that Draco was kneeling behind her. She felt his own thick cock prodding against her entrance and she gurgled around Blaise’s, lifting her buttocks, trying to get him to do what she wanted him to do. He got the message and, wrapping his arms around her waist, pushed into her tight pussy.

She was close, again. She knew she wouldn’t last long and she doubted either of her boys would either. Keeping one hand on her clit, she moved the other to the base of Blaise’s cock and started to massage his balls; something that, judging by Blaise’s loud grunt, he found most enjoyable. She simultaneously continued to push herself as much as she could onto Draco’s dick. He responded by thrusting at the same time, meeting her halfway and causing a deep penetration that was nothing short of heavenly.

She continued to suck, harder and harder, until Blaise finally gave his loudest moan yet and a thick stream of semen burst out of him, directly into Hermione’s throat. She swallowed it easily, enjoying the salty taste, so different from that of the alcohol. He slid out of her mouth just in time for her to place both palms on the ground and push frantically against Draco, her heavy breasts swinging backwards and forwards with the relentless rhythm of their strokes. 

When they came, they came together, pushing so hard into each other that they would surely develop bruises. Hermione’s body was alight, every nerve in overdrive as the orgasm overwhelmed her.

Draco hardly gave her time to recover. As soon as she had stopped shaking he was lifting her off the ground, turning her so she was facing him and kissing her hungrily. Gone was the slow elegance she’d experienced before. Now Draco was an animal, satisfied but still wanting more.

As they kissed, Blaise took them by an arm each and guided them to a large and until then unused bed. They collapsed onto it, still kissing with desperation, and scrambled to sit up. Draco snuck his hand between her legs and flicked at her clit, making her mewl. She was so sensitised by now that any action excited her.

Blaise came back and crawled to her other side. Hermione could feel his already semi-hard cock pressing into her left buttock. He raised his arm above them all and Hermione saw the ever-present bottle of alcohol, now above their heads.

Blaise tipped the bottle, and the rest of the sweet liquid started to flow out. Unlike before, when Blaise had poured it carefully onto her skin, the alcohol gushed out like a perpetual shower. Hermione took her lips away from Draco’s and tipped her head up to swallow some of the wonderful beverage. It cascaded down her body, running in rivulets down her back, over her breasts and belly. The wicked decadence of it was almost too much for her, and she leaned into Blaise, who held her by the shoulders as he bent down to suck at her neck. The now-empty bottle fell off the bed, landing with a loud _clunk_ on the floor.

Draco had attached his mouth to her left nipple as soon as he was able. He sucked greedily at her, nipping occasionally at the hardened flesh, earning him a further mewl from Hermione. He switched to the right one and gave it equal attention. His hand continued stroking at her clit. Hermione could barely move, could barely think; the sensations were unbelievable, especially on the heel of two orgasms.

Suddenly, Draco stopped. Hermione opened her mouth to ask what he was doing, when he spun her around so she was facing Blaise. Then Draco’s tongue was running down her back, licking up all stray drops of alcohol, and questions suddenly seemed unnecessary. Blaise grinned at her and pressed his finger into her naval; clearly one of his favourite parts of her body.

Still lower Draco licked, past the small of her back, and ever-so-slightly into the cleft of her arse. His finger replaced his tongue, continuing to travel down, down, until he reached her tight arsehole. Before she could ask if he was possibly going to do what he seemed to want to do, he had pressed his finger in.

“Oh!” she gasped. The sensation was ... odd, but not terrible. Draco went in a little deeper, and she pushed toward him; her non-verbal way of assuring him that what he was doing was okay.

Blaise’s hand travelled lower down her front until he found her clit and started massaging it with two fingers. Hermione gasped and grabbed onto Blaise’s shoulders. It was different, but the combination of the familiar pleasure derived from her clit being stimulated, and the new tightness in her anus, was surprisingly agreeable.

As Blaise continued to massage her clit, he moved to position his now fully-erect cock at her moist, slick entrance. He pushed into her with one long, hard thrust and Hermione arched her back in delight. The feeling of his hot dick pulsing in her was fantastic.

Draco was continuing with his work, slowly inserting a second finger into her second hole. He worked slowly, moving his fingers around, trying to stretch her enough to accept what he wanted to put in there next. When he was finally satisfied, he positioned himself before her and whispered “Remember, Granger, _mi alma es su alma_.”

And then he was going in, pushing his dick slowly into her arsehole. Her grip on Blaise’s shoulders tightened as Draco worked his cock inch by inch into her. After what seemed like hours he was finally there, and Hermione felt so completely full she wondered how it could get better than this.

She didn’t have to wait long to find out. No sooner had Draco reached his end point then Blaise was moving backwards and forwards, sliding in and out of her. Draco began to move in sync with him, and Hermione leaned back, moaning with each stroke.

Draco reached around and took a large breast in each hand. He massaged them deeply, pressing and pulling at them with increasing urgency. Blaise then started playing with her clit again, now stroking it so furiously he almost couldn’t feel it at all. But Hermione could feel him. Her entire body was on fire. Every breath that came out of her was more like a shriek. She strained her bent legs as far apart as they’d go. She pushed and pulled into Blaise and Draco as deeply as she could manage. Everything, from the two hard thick cocks inside her, to the hands pummelling her tits, to the unbelievable friction between her clit and Blaise’s hand, combined to make her feel as though every atom inside her was combusting with absolute ecstasy. With one final communal thrust, all three of them climaxed together, in an orgasm more intense than any other they’d had that evening. They all yelled their joy, still bucking against each other, trying to make it last as long as possible. When it was over they all collapsed, completely and utterly spent, on the bed.

It took ages for any of them to get their breath back. When they finally did, it was Blaise who spoke first.

“So, Granger,” he puffed out, “did we manage to help you unwind?”

“Yes,” Draco added, “and do you think you let go?”

“Did you act wildly?” Blaise continued. “Was I right? Did you want to act wildly?”

Hermione was too exhausted to retort to their teasing, other than to groan and say “that... was incredible.”

Blaise chuckled. “Yes, it was,” he agreed, kissing her on the mouth. “And to think, we didn’t even manage to remove your skirt.”

“Oh, bollocks,” Draco said. “I knew I’d forgotten something.”

“How...” Hermione paused, trying to make her words make sense in her head before saying them. “How... did you want, to, er...”

“To fuck you?” Blaise asked. His hand traced lightly along the outside of her breast, then travelled down her tummy, to her naval, which he pressed, making her breath hitch. “Well, to say that it’s all either of us have wanted to do for six years would be... direct, but I don’t think it would be exaggerating, would it, Draco?”

“I think that’s pretty much it in a nutshell,” Draco agreed, his own fingers travelling lightly down her back.

“I see,” Hermione said, not quite believing what she was hearing, but willing to accept it, because Merlin knew she was due for something good to happen to her. “Well, I suppose we could remember to take my skirt off next time, couldn’t we?”

“Yes,” Blaise said, his grin of joy so infectious that she had to grin back, “indeed we could.”

“When, do you think?” she asked them.

Draco chuckled. “Granger, to be honest, any day is perfectly fine by us.”

“I couldn’t agree more,” Blaise said. “After all, Granger, our souls—” she gasped as the meaning of the mysterious Spanish phrase suddenly dawned on her—“are yours.”


End file.
